


Love Me Dead

by Calaphrass (SexyStripedTie)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: (in future chapters), Actually That's Not Really AU, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Gabriel Owns a Chocolate/Candy Shop, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Things Suck But Sam Is An Undying Ray of Sunshine, Amended: Things Suck But Sam Is An Undying Ray of Sunshine (As Always), Drug Addiction, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/F, M/M, Multi, Physical Abuse, Sam/Balthazar Friendship, in which Balthazar is a very awesome and important main character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-02
Updated: 2016-06-03
Packaged: 2018-06-05 20:30:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6722281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SexyStripedTie/pseuds/Calaphrass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>You smashed a plate / over my head / then I set fire to our bed</i>
</p><p>Sam Winchester: in college, in debt (though maybe not in the way you think), and a little bit (or a lot) desperately fucked up. Love wont fix anything, but maybe it's capable of being the motivating force behind some much needed, self-driven change. Or maybe all he needs is a slap to the face. It's a coin toss, really.</p><p>Lots of queer representation, Sam love, eccentricity, and a love triangle that you definitely don't want ending in polyamory. This fic will head down some emotionally dark places, but overall, the message is ultimately: Always Keep Fighting, 'cause love sure as hell wins.<br/>(Tags will be updated along with the story -- possible triggers always tagged in advance.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The End of the World As We Know It (He Just Doesn't Know It)

**Author's Note:**

> I am so, so, SO excited to post this fic. This story in its entirety honestly means the world to me, and I really hope that comes through in my writing. I've been sitting on this for 2+ years (I first started the original draft over three ago), and it's a story that really resonates with me for a whole bunch of reasons that, I hope, will resonate with you also. If not, then at the very least -- I hope you enjoy my writing. :)
> 
> This is a complete rewriting of this previous idea of mine, so it's being written chapter by chapter. I don't have an update schedule worked out yet, but I do intend to figure one out and post with at least some regularity. Anyway, thank you so much for reading! Please enjoy the story.
> 
>  **Content warnings for this chapter** : Sam is unhappy with his lack of body weight; anorexia is mentioned briefly/abruptly (he doesn't have it, but a friend is concerned). Also, there's a 20+ year age difference between Sam and Balthazar, and Balthazar flirts a lot (he flirts with _everyone_ , but that isn't clear until later chapters since this one only stars the two of them). Sam isn't put off by this, and Balthazar does it knowing it's not going to lead anywhere -- so it is, at its core, a nonsexual, respectful friendship. But for those that might be put off by this -- here's a heads up.

Sam writes, sometimes.

He's not a writer by any means, but he does like to write about the weather. He describes it, and it grounds him, somehow -- fastens him in the moment. Leaves him tranquil. Or at least, as close to the state as he can get. Pure tranquility is kind of a difficult thing to achieve. But hey, he _tries_.

Unlike a certain irritatingly… _verbose_ French guy. An irritatingly verbose French guy who’s currently tapping him on the shoulder. With a pen. For the third freaking minute in a row.

Sam shivers as a draft from the cracked-open coffeehouse window behind him picks up -- a real sign that he’s gone a little soft living here, he thinks vaguely, and with a tiny bit of pleasure, seeing as it’s barely in the sixties -- and the pen tapping picks up. He tries desperately to ignore it.

“Honestly, _Sam_.” He ignores it. He _does_. “How can you just sit here and _scribble_? There are women out there to woo. Men to cajole. Everything and everyone inbetween to charm senseless with _vivacity_ \-- are you listening to me? Samuel. _Samantha_.”

“Dude. It’s _Sam_ , and it’s ‘cause unlike you, I have _patience_.” Which earns him a scoff and a sharp jab of the pen (“ _ow!_ ”), and honestly, Sam wants to be kind of pissed at this point, but it’s raining outside right now and it _never_ rains in California and as such it automatically makes the irritating things in life a tiny bit more bearable. “Bal, jesus! Come on.”

Which only makes Balthazar pout harder.

“Yes. Patience. Because _that’s_ what brings the good things in life.” Sam’s pretty sure if Bal had a bottle of some expensive wine right now, he’d be guzzling it entirely for dramatic effect. But then. _Then_. He finally, amazingly, _blessedly_ drops the pen -- and tacks a long-suffering sigh at the end, just for good measure. “Look at you, driving me to immature annoyances. Sometimes I don’t know why I even bother with it all.”

“Seriously, man? You _know_ me.” Sam’s exasperated, but also, god, he’s torn between stifling down a grin and full on snorting. “You made sure of that.” Bal’s sullen expressions were _ridiculous_. The guy was old enough to be one of his own professors; _Sam,_ at least, had age on his side if he wanted to be sullen. “‘Sides, like I said, I’m taken.”

“I know.” Balthazar sniffs solemnly. “Life is never fair.”

“I’m like twenty years younger than you.” Sam points out fairly, ducking his head back to the lined paper in front of him to hide his grin.

“And I am like a fine wine.”

“Too bad I’m more of a beer guy.”

“Words do hurt, you know.”

 

* * *

 

Balthazar stayed to chat up the short barista with long, platinum hair, and Sam ducked out of the coffeehouse, backpack slung over his shoulder, hands securely buried in his pockets. He shivered as a wall of the cooler air hit him -- and then, once he was out from under the rarely-relevant but, happily, still-present awning -- the rain. It wasn’t _pouring,_ but it was drizzly, and chilly, and the California cold threatened to soak Sam’s hoodie through in a matter of minutes if he didn’t high-tail it home. His bones still carried a pleasant warmth from the coffeehouse, though, and that was definitely what counted here -- moreso than any warmth-impeding wear-and-tear holes his hoodie might or might not currently have.

Hey, it was an old hoodie, okay? He loved it. It was warm. It was comfy. It was… really, all he could afford at the present moment, but it was mostly the first two. Honestly.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. Sam paused; frowned. It was nearly six on a Tuesday. Who-- _oh_.

Right. Right, duh.

He fished around for his phone, extracted it, and flipped it open.

_[5:54 PM From: xxx-xxx-xxxx]_

_[Had to reschedule. Stop by thurs afternoon instead. -R]_

Thursday. Goddammit. Right. Yeah, okay. He could do that this time. They had enough, he’d just need to--

“Telling all your friends about me, Samosa?”

Sam _jolted_ , sucking in a breath and snapping his phone shut and _turning-_ -

_Balthazar._

“ _Dude_.”

“Oh, what’s with the face? Don’t tell me I’m your only one.”

“My only-- what? What, no, man-- you can’t just _sneak up on people_!” And then, a thought occurred, because Bal was _here_ , not there, and what the hell? “Wait, what happened? Weren’t you getting that girl’s number?”

“She prefers the term ‘they’, actually, and yes, I already did.”

Sam blinked. And blinked again.

“What, _already_?”

Balthazar, for what it was worth, managed to look so spontaneously offended that it was almost an art form.

“ _Samantha_. How many times-- this is my _specialty_. I’m appalled by your surprise. This gorgeous, goldi-locked human was _gushing_ over me.”

And you know what, didn’t it just sum up their friendship that he believed that completely.

“Jesus. You are unreal.” He half-rolled his eyes, smiling lopsidedly despite himself while hiking his backpack higher up on his shoulder and casually re-pocketing his phone.“But ‘goldi-locked’? Seriously? That’s so not sexy.”

“Really? Then you clearly interpreted the fable about the three bears much differently than I did.”

 

_That_ took Sam roughly five seconds to get. And then--

“Oh-- oh, gross!”

“Different strokes.” Balthazar returning smile was _way_ too smug. Sam didn’t even have to look to know. He looked anyway, because ultimately bitchfaces didn’t shoot themselves. “Keep your opinions to yourself, my skinny, celibate friend.”

Which-- oh. Hey, no.

“Hey, I’m not judging.” A pause. “ _Or_ celibate.” Another pause. Sam looked down, then; eyed himself for a few seconds. And then his mouth twisted into something a little uncertain and a lot unhappy.

“I’m not _that_ skinny.”

Balthazar, for the life of him, did not see what the big deal was. But whatever; with different strokes came different... issues. Actually, no. No, Sam could hold on for one moment, because--

“Temporarily putting aside the quite frankly _delightful_ conversational topic of you not being celibate--” Sam snorted at that, and yeah, he’d totally walked into that one, hadn’t he? “Darling, if you were any skinnier you’d be rivaling _my_ thin, handsome self. Which apparently you’re not seeing.”

Sam walked a little bit faster. Balthazar had absolutely no trouble keeping up.

“Is it anorexia?”

Sam stopped dead, startled.

“ _What_?”

“Is-- this, you.” He motioned towards Sam’s self. Sam stared back, blinking and shocked still and not really comprehending. “Is _that_ why you’ve got this… caginess about your weight?”

“My-- _what_?” Because again, _what_? Seriously, what the hell? Who just… _asked_ about stuff like that? Well, Balthazar, apparently, but _still_ \-- “You-- _jesus_ , no, it’s not-- it’s not _anorexia_ , Bal, okay?” Because it _wasn’t_ , and normally he’d be touched over a casual friend’s concern for his wellbeing but this was veering uncomfortably close to uncomfortable territory. “Look, that’s not what I meant, all right? It’s not-- I don’t want to lose more weight. I’m not trying to. It’s... I’m not _happy_ being this thin.”

And, ironically, those words now out, he felt skinnier and smaller than he had in a long goddamn time. He gripped the strap of his backpack a little tighter and shifted feet uncomfortably; there was something about being the same weight that you’d been in your late teens, and being _honest_ about it, _and_ having a spotlight on you because of that very fact that really mixed together into something especially awful.

 

_Balthazar_ , however, seemed positively thrilled.

“Good! You never know. Sam, this is _perfect_.”

Sam blinked.

“Um. What?”

Which earned him an impatient scoff and his tall, not-at-all-intimidating friend crossing his arms at him like he belonged in the mafia.

“You know what, don’t play coy.”

“I really, really don’t.”

“You don’t want to be skinny?” He prodded, and christ, he was positively _glowing_ with intent, and Sam _still_ \--

Oh. _Oh_.

“Dude, the _chocolate shop_?”

Balthazar nearly punched the air in victory.

“ _Yes!_ See, I knew you remembered.”

“Dude, come on! I said-- I said no.” Balthazar, always a fighter, practically _whined_ at that, but Sam hiked his backpack up and started walking again -- _away_ from Balthazar, towards his own apartment -- because _seriously_ , _oh my god_. Plus, he wasn’t very warm anymore, in mind, body, or spirit. He’d really rather be home right now than talking about any of this.

“Okay-- fine, fine! I give, you win, slow _down_.” Balthazar caved, finally, trailing after him. “You win. I won’t push it. Honest. Just tell me -- why _not_?”

And you know, okay, _fine_. Fine, that was a fair enough request. Sam stopped, again, turned towards Balthazar, _again_ , and let out this stressed, strained sigh, expression tight and a little on the nervous side.

“Cause I _can’t_. You seem to think I’m made of money, but one, I’m in college, on _scholarships_ ,” he stressed, “and two-- I _can’t_. I can’t afford nice chocolate, man. I can’t afford any chocolate, period.”

Balthazar stared. Sam stared back, pulse wracking up a fraction, because _what? What did he say?_ And then finally, _finally_ \--

“That’s _all_?”

“That’s-- _what do you mean, that’s all_?”

“I never said you had to pay for the chocolate.” Balthazar said, simply.

“I--” Sam started, and then stopped, and then started again, and then-- “ _What_?”

“Honestly, Samuel, was that _it_? You kept refusing my irrefusable offer because of the size of your _wallet_? I can’t believe-- _god,_ you’re worse than-- _yes,_ you problematically skinny dolt, I’m offering you free chocolate.”

Sam stared. _Sam_ stared, this time, because-- _what, just like that? Just--_ they weren’t talking _cheap_ chocolate here, they were talking _boutique_ chocolate, pricey chocolate, _rich people_ chocolate, even, maybe, and--

“You’re _serious_?” It _so_ wasn’t Sam’s fault that his disbelieving voice went as unintentionally high as it did.

“Samuel, I am as serious as a bad bout of endometriosis. I’m offended that you’d think I’d make my friends pay at a place _I_ invited them.”

And-- god, okay, I mean, he had a _point_ , but-- christ, he hadn’t expected--

“So?” Balthazar cut into his thoughts cleanly. “Have we discussed this enough?”

Sam visibly wavered. On one hand, it wasn’t the most conventional thing on any level, because one, _Balthazar_ , and two, a guy buying another guy expensive chocolates was… yeah. Not _generally_ accepted as a totally normal thing to do. He knew that. But he also knew Bal (at least, as well as you _could_ know him after only a few months), and he knew _that_ definitely wasn’t the intentional angle here, anyway. And hey, since Balthazar’s friend ran the shop, Sam was pretty sure they’d know about Balthazar’s eccentricities too.

Because on the other hand: Free Chocolate.

Balthazar waggled his eyebrows in a motion that Sam figured, with more than a little amusement, was supposed to be tempting.

Sam caved anyway.

“All right. All right, yeah. I’m in.”

 


	2. Near Wild Heaven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter down! You would not believe how fun it is to write Balthazar, oh my god.
> 
>  **Content warnings for this chapter** : Sam wakes up pretty violently from a recurring nightmare.

Sam woke with a sharp, wrenching gasp. His heart was pounding, his pulse wracked up nauseatingly. He was sweating; no, no, he was _suffocating_ , burning up, grasping desperately at nothing and choking down breaths that wouldn’t, that _wouldn’t come_ \--

It took him a few disoriented, scrambling seconds to catch up with reality. Bed. A bed. He was-- he was _in a bed_. In a bed with grey blankets. His blankets. Those were his. There was sunlight, streaming onto the wall in front of him, coming in choppy through slatted shades. He could breathe. He was home. He was in bed; he’d been _dreaming_.

He was safe. He could _breathe_. Sam choked out a noise so palpable it ached.

This. This _again_. _Still this, after everything_. Sam took a sharp, shaky breath and dropped his gaze to the other side of the bed. Empty. Guh. Must be at work. _Luckily_ , he thought. He hated getting seen like this. Hated _being_ like this, most off, but what was he supposed to do? He’d tried… literally everything. Was _trying_ everything. And yet.

Sam pushed himself out of bed, a chill at the back of his neck. The carpet felt good on his bare feet, if a little dirty, but right now everything felt a little hollow. A little desaturated. And screw that, because-- he was _trying,_ okay?

 _Not hard enough, though. Never hard enough._ He beelined for the bathroom.

 

He scrubbed at his face, cold water dripping down his arms and into the basin of the sink. His shirt was going to be soaked after this, but you know what, he honestly didn’t care. It could use a wash. Waking up drenched in sweat tended to necessitate things like that. Errant waterdrops usually bugged the hell out of him, too, because they were _messy_ , because they meant more cleanup, but sometimes they were… reassuring. Reminded him that he was _here_. Whole. Alive. It was the kind of startling-in-a-good-way physical sensation that put you in your place, in a cosmic sense. But then again, maybe Sam was just putting too much stock into something stupid; it wouldn’t be the first time. Maybe he _was_ too sentimental.

Sam cleaned up, patted his face dry, and shifted his attentions to finding his toothbrush. He’d woken up a full hour before his alarm, and he felt it -- underneath the refreshing wakefulness of night terror, there was a heavy sluggishness in his arms, his chest, his legs. His mind felt _blocked_ , somehow, too, tense and overly-hot and too distant to properly reconfigure at this time.

But hey, at least he knew what would help.

 

An hour and a half later, he was on the phone, feeling conscious and awake and _better_ \-- if a little out of it. And slow. And in a semi-bloomed haze of giddy-calm. But hey, he was _functional_. And he was calling about this. And -- that’s what counted, right?

“Yeah-- hi, I’m looking for... Winchester. Like the guns, yeah. Uh huh. Uh huh. No, yeah. I wanted to talk about my financial aid? I was supposed to set up an appointment with my guidance counselor.” He hesitated, swallowed, and then -- “I’ve been... I was sick.” And yeah, he knew that wasn’t original. He _knew_ that. Saying it sure as hell didn’t make him feel better. But… what mattered was that he was getting it done, right? Even if he felt like shit for putting it off till the last moment? And lying, and lying again? What mattered was that he was trying?

The self help talk didn’t help. He wasn’t doing enough, and he knew it. He was capable of more, he _should_ be doing more, and holy _hell_ did that eat away at him.

At least he had support _._ He knew how many people in his situation didn’t.

Speaking of.

The corners of Sam’s mouth lifted into a soft smile when his eyes fell on the stray t-shirt discarded on the couch. Sam picked it up. Toyed the fabric between his fingers.

“Yeah, I’m free on Friday.” He shifted the phone so it was wedged between his ear and shoulder and shook the shirt out, set on folding it. A stray chip crumb flung itself onto the carpet. Sam snorted quietly. “No-- sorry. Yeah. That works.” He made short work of the folding. “Okay. Awesome. Nine o’clock. Thanks.” And with that, the phone call ended. One task down. He had an appointment. Now he just had to stop by a convenience store, buy something to eat, and make it to class. Totally doable. _Totally_ doable.

Sam sighed quietly, shifted feet, and held the fabric close.

 

Classes went by swimmingly. The breakfast thing, not so much. He felt queasy by lunch, despite the sun and fresh air and general _beauty_ of the day. And, jesus, he _really_ needed to find a way to invest in food with a higher nutritional content than the backalley of the corner store it came from. This sucked. This _really_ sucked. This--

 _Bzzzzt. Bzzt bzzt_. Sam jumped. _Holy fucking shit_.

It-- that was his phone. _God_ , _his phone._ He needed to take it off freaking _vibrate,_ because-- jesus, _every goddamn time. Who needed a phone with a vibration that strong?_

...On second thought, he was going to leave that question alone.

 

On _third_ thought, he should really definitely take this call. So Sam did. He tossed his hair out of his eyes, flipped open his phone, and didn’t bother stifling the small, crooked smile on his face, because--

“Hey.”

“She wants us to wait till _tomorrow_?”

Sam’s smile dropped. _Oh_. Right. That.

“Yeah,” he admitted, rueful.

“ _Why the fuck--?_ ” Which, yeah, decent question. Unfortunately...

“She didn’t say.”

“Well, that’s bullshit. She’s tugging your tail, Sam. She wants to see if she can push you around.” Which, yeah. Sam had figured. Sam could see that. He really could.

“I mean. She kind of can,” he admitted.

“ _Sam_.”

“What? She’s in a position of power! It pisses me off, _yeah_ , but what am I supposed to do, threaten her?”

“Maybe.”

“Dude, I’m not _threatening_ her.”

A snort from the other end.

“Yeah, yeah. I know. I was kidding.”

“Good, ‘cause-- geez.”

“Yeah. I’m not an idiot, Mr. Big and Tall. I know that wouldn’t end well.” Big and Tall? _Big and Tall_. And just like that, Sam’s subtle smile was back, because--

“Big and Tall? So would that be referring to my _height_ or...”

A breeze from behind Sam made him stall.

“She’s definitely not referring to your height, Samuel. I know a come-on when I hear it.” Balthazar.

“ _Jesus fuck._ ” _Balthazar_. “ _Dude--!_ ”

 

“Party of five!” Balthazar informed him, cheerfully cutting across his sentence. “Sorry to interrupt your phone call -- except I’m not, really, because my chocolate-making friend _just_ finished a fresh batch of treats and we’re invited to the inaugural tasting.”

“You said that was after classes!”

“It was.” Bal solemnly confirmed. “And then Gabriel got an order in for enough chocolate and booze-drenched sweets to make any mortal’s brain melt -- for one of those delightful raves at Ash’s mansion, you know? -- and now he’s slipped into confectionary overdrive. His love knows no bounds. It’s an illness.” Balthazar paused. “A _delicious_ illness, admittedly. You really can’t argue with the byproduct. Are you coming or not, Samuel?”

And-- jesus. Okay, fine, that made sense. But _man_ , a little warning would have gone a long way. He was on the _phone_. Meanwhile, on said phone:

“Sam? What the hell happened? You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m-- jesus. Sorry. One of my friends snuck up on me.”

“Some jackass interrupted my flirting?” A jokingly scornful noise. “Make sure they know I hate them.” Sam grinned at that. Man, that was a good mood if he ever heard one. And wasn’t that infectious. However...

“Look, I’ve gotta go.” Because… yeah. He really couldn’t see a way of getting out of this. Not now, after Balthazar had already locked and targeted onto him. Luckily, the reply came back positive enough.

“Fine. See you later, babe.”

“Yeah. Yeah, see you later.” A hesitation. Sam shot a quick look at Bal, gauging; but, hey, he’d said _she_ earlier, so… “Love you,” he finished.

“Yeah. Love you too.”

 _Click_.

 

Sam let his phone snap shut and turned to look at Balthazar, a little uncertain. He wasn’t used to sharing his personal life with anyone at _all_ , and yeah, it was just a phone call, just an ‘I love you’, but it was _still_ …

“Aw. How precious! Big and Tall _and_ you express your love? And here I thought you _couldn’t_ flirt.”

Sam let out a breath of laughter, nerves dissipating. Man. One good thing about Balthazar: he always had a weirdly energizing, weirdly _comforting_ way about him -- even if talking with him waskind of like being strapped to a whirlwind.

“Shut up.” Sam said, good-naturedly. He stood up, collecting his things and herding them back into his backpack. “Also, hey -- how did you find me?” Because they hadn’t had a class together today, and Sam was at least _fairly_ certain that Balthazar was above stalking him. Sam slung his backpack over his shoulder. Balthazar scoffed.

“You’re not exactly inconspicuous, Samuel. Who else wears hoodies in 80 degree weather? Honestly, if you didn’t look so cute in them I’d call it a travesty against fashion. Possibly life itself. How you manage to not roast is beyond me.”

“Ah. Gotcha.”

“I take it you invest in some good antiperspirant?”

“Wh-- dude!”

“What? You’re rebelling against nature! I’m _curious_.”

“...No, I don’t really invest. I use that Dove stuff? Clean Comfort? It smells really good.”

“Very interesting.”

“Thanks for that.”

 

Heaven, as it turned out, ended up being a modestly-sized boutique that you could easily overlook if you were distracted or in a hurry to get somewhere -- but when you stopped, and looked, when you actually _noticed it_ \-- _wow_.

 

“Wait.” Sam started, staring up with something close to puzzled amazement at the word ‘Heaven’ emblazoned in powder-pink letters on the front of the building. “It’s _literally_ called Heaven? Oh my god. Dude, I thought you were being _dramatic_.”

“No other name did it justice!” Bal ceremoniously informed him. “Just wait until you see the _inside_.”

Which-- _god, yeah_. It was… _pretty_. Really pretty. Holy _hell_. Or, well, er. Heaven. Holy heaven. But hey.

Maybe it was the day adding dramatic effect too -- in which case, it was a brilliant move to set up shop in California of all places, because here almost _every_ day was beautiful and thus, Sam imagined, so too was the view of this shop. Because jesus christ, the sun hit the pretty but otherwise nondescript exterior _just right_. It lit up the displays in the windows -- which, _wow_ \-- and made the building itself look almost _golden_ , and-- yeah, okay. That had to be a custom paint job. He honestly wasn’t surprised. Apparently, wherever Bal was involved, no expense was spared.

“This place is-- beautiful.” Sam admitted sheepishly. He honestly wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting. Something overdone? Something a little tacky? Something _really_ tacky? Jesus, he felt _bad_ , because he’d just _assumed_ , and now here he was, and the place was like _this_ \--

“I know.” Balthazar beamed. “Now, what’s the term? ‘Mi casa es su casa’?” When Sam didn’t respond in under half a second, Bal prodded him impatiently. “What I’m saying is _move_ , lazybones. Stop gawking and get inside. Not everyone can be a heat-impervious behemoth with a hoodie fetish.”

“Oh, come on.” Sam complained, shooting him a look, because _really_. He was seriously blowing this whole thing out of proportion. “This one’s my thinnest one!”

“And it brings out your eyes beautifully. Now, _inside_.”

Which, gah, okay, _fine_. Sam went.

 

Sam went, and waltzed right into amazingly orchestrated chaos. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out the rest of my stuff over at [my Tumblr](https://sexystripedtie.tumblr.com/)!  
> Comments and reviews are always super appreciated. Thank you so much for reading. <3


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